Prettier On Your Knees
by Malandra
Summary: Sam realized he liked Dean best when he was on his knees, looking up at him with that adorably angry expression, lips parted like he was going to spill curses from that pretty mouth.


Dean was fiery and angry with a withering glare that broke the vilest of monsters. He fought fiercely and lived stubbornly, like nothing in the world could take him apart. He stood tall, and Sam loved knocking him down.

The loss of his soul had granted Sam so many liberties that morality had previously denied him. He thought faster, hunted better, and made decisions his old self wouldn't dream of. Best, though, was his complete lack of shame or apprehension when it came to Dean.

At first, his brother had reacted as expected; jumped when Sam grabbed his ass or shot back a biting remark at any flirting. But it had taken much less time than Sam expected for his brother to simply accept their new relationship - even if Sam didn't have a soul and Dean hated himself for loving it, but what could you do.

Sam quickly realised he liked Dean best when he was on his knees, looking up at him with that adorably angry expression, lips parted like he was going to spill curses from that pretty mouth. Usually Sam gave him something better to do with his tongue, but this time he waited, expectant.

Dean had walked into the motel complaining about something stupid - "damn taxi drivers" or something to that effect. He could be such a damn diva. A switch flipped in Sam, and maybe he was overtired, maybe Dean had broken his patience, or maybe Sam liked it a little when Dean acted like a bitch, but whatever it was, he snapped. Without a word, Sam stood and dropped his hands onto his brother's shoulders, forcing his legs to buckle.

So here they were, with those pretty pink lips parting to start whining again. Sam smiled wryly, feeling like a parent tuning out the complaining of a petulant child.

"…and m'not your freakin' toy, Sam," Dean grumbled, his hands coming up to wrap around Sam's wrists.

The younger Winchester cocked an eyebrow, shaking a hand free to cup the side of his brother's face and keeping a firm grip with the other. "You're acting like you have a choice in the matter."

If there was anything Sam loved more than seeing Dean on his knees, it was watching his brother realise he was completely subject to Sam's whim. Of course, Dean had his pride. He kept up a facade of control, but they both knew who was really in charge. Part of Sam wanted his brother to like being dominated, and part of Sam didn't give a shit.

Suddenly, he wasn't in the mood for his brother's little power plays. He interrupted whatever Dean was saying — "…beat your ass, Sammy, I swear to God" — with a thumb, pressing the pad of his finger against his brother's bottom lip. The command was unspoken, though Dean stopped talking and glared up at Sam. Sam couldn't help his smirk as he met his brother's gaze. Already, Dean had submitted. Even if he didn't act like it, the willingness was obvious in his gorgeous green eyes — and in the fact that he hadn't tried to get up yet.

His brother's mouth pushed into what Sam could only describe as a pout. He chuckled, pressing his thumb insistently against Dean's lip.

"Don't be a bitch, Dean."

"Fuckin' asshole."

"Maybe later."

Sam took advantage of Dean's next attempt at a snarky reply to push his thumb into his brother's mouth. Dean was indignant for a moment before letting his glare simmer down to an irritated smolder as he grudgingly sucked on the finger. Sam smirked down at him, carding a hand through his brother's short hair.

"See? It's easier if you just do what I want," he murmured, ignoring the eyeroll he received in response. He tugged on Dean's hair hard enough to hurt. "Keep up the attitude and you'll be sucking on something bigger than a finger."

Dean might have taken the threat in stride if he didn't know that Sam would absolutely follow through with it. The tips of his ears flushed cutely, though he'd hate Sam calling him out on it.

After a while, Sam decided he'd seen enough of his brother's lips wrapped around his finger and yanked him up to press their mouths together. Kissing led to groping, which led to clothes coming off and then a significant amount of yelling (mostly good yelling and all from Dean).

They left the motel the next morning, and the only piece of evidence that suggested they'd been there was a dent in the plaster wall where the bed frame had slammed into it multiple times.

Sam loved the little hints they left - "the Winchesters fucked here" - and he loved the scandalized looks the neighbors gave them the next morning, and he loved how loud they were, but most, he loved his brother's knees hitting the ground, and that little frown on his lips.


End file.
